Serendipity
by Vestina
Summary: Fifty ways Anna and Kristoff meet in modern, alternate universes. Sweet and humorous with a touch of sarcastic dialogue. Each chapter is a 100 word drabble.
1. One

He despises Taco Bell. Really, if it weren't for Sven, he would be far, far away from this greasy hell.

"Dude!" Sven drawls. "A Coke!"

"Whatever."

And as he's reaching for the ice dispenser, he's thrown backward, blinded by an auburn mane of hair. "Sorry!" she titters, haphazardly dispensing bursts of soda.

She's about to snap the lid in place, when the brownish concoction tumbles down her sundress.

He grabs napkins, trying to blot it from her dress.

(Avoids her breasts.)

"Oh gosh, thanks..." she rambles.

"No problem."

Back to his table. "Where's my Coke?" Sven asks.

"They serve Pepsi."


	2. Two

It's rickety, this elevator. An old one, with mechanical doors looking like cages.

And when it halts on the fifth floor of her building, he saunters in, arms overflowing with a box of jars.

And really, she can't hold back such curiosity.

"Why so many jars?"

He turns to her, hazel brown eyes defined by fierce brows. "I throw them at trespassing children."

"What?"

"Doesn't understand sarcasm, okay..."

"Geez, I was just asking! You don't have to be rude. You don't even have to tell me."

Beat.

The elevator dings.

"Roses," he says, stepping out. "I use them for roses."


	3. Three

She bolts.

Get it off. Get it off her fucking hands.

She hates little kids. And their vomit.

Shoulders the metal plate into the bathroom

Swishes the sink on. Pumps enough soap in her hands to wash an elephant. The stall behind her squeaks open.

"Umm..." says a low-timbered voice.

She turns in horror. "Please say this isn't..."

He points to a urinal.

"Oh fuckity fuck!"

"Are you gonna pass out?"

"No." But her voice is tiny. He smirks. She finishes spraying soap off her hands. "Sorry, I'll be out of your way."

"It's all right. At least you're pretty."


	4. Four

6:30 a.m.

"Hi there!" What the hell can a grocery store clerk be so fucking happy about this early? "That will be $32.50!"

"What? No, I only have a watermelon!"

"Oops! I read the decimal wrong. $3.25." Fucking rip-off.

And she's seriously irritating him.

Drops the plastic bag as she thrusts it at him. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! I didn't bruise it, did I?"

"No, you're fine."

"Let me make it up to you."

"Don't reimburse me."

"Let me buy you coffee. Please?"

Damn, she's cute. Why are the obnoxious ones always cute? "Fine, but only on my terms."


	5. Five

Her breathing is labored when she halts at the stop sign, narrowly avoiding a semi barreling down the boulevard about six times faster than her cat hearing the can opener. 

"Fucking asshole!" 

"Angry much?" Another jogger she supposes, track pants, tee-shirt. Ridiculously attractive.

"He almost ran me over!"

"So you're gonna yell at him from down the street? Seem really logical." He's smirking.

And it's irritating the shit out of her. "Stop judging me, dude! Who the hell are you anyway?" His attractiveness is fading sharply.

"No one of any consequence, obviously."

And then he's running in the other direction. 


	6. Six

He's standing on the street corner, the traffic whizzing past him. 

And the map in his hands is tumbling out of control. So she dives in.

Can't blame her. He's cute.

Tosses his blonde hair.

Take that back. He's sexy. 

And disoriented. 

"Need directions?"

"Where's Shazer Avenue?"

Damn. He's rich. Or has a rich girlfriend. She probably pretty too. "Eight blocks north," she answers.

"Cool."

"You don't look sure."

"College roommate's family. Awkward, right?"

"Only if you didn't bring a dish to share."

"Well damnit then."

"There's a bagel shop right here."

"If only rich people ate something so lowly."


	7. Seven

Elsa's told her that she's too liberal with the pepper spray. Which is bullshit.

Until a guy in the grocery store reaches over her shoulder for a bunch of bananas, and she thinks he's trying to grope her.

(Even though it's obvious he's not.)

"Holy shit! Fucking hell, that burns! Aw damnit, damnit, damnit!"

"Oh gosh! Umm, water!" Grabs the water bottle in her purse, twists the top, and splashes it in his face.

"What the hell?" Droplets fall from his hair, streak down his cheekbones.

"I'm sorry!"

"Should I call the cops?"

"No! I'm not-!"

Laughs. "Don't worry, Sweetheart."


	8. Eight

Everyday. 8:27.

The subway doors swish open. The fourth car from the back. And he boards.

The stop at Ainsworth, 8:34, she gets on.

Everyday.

And he watches.

(But not like a stalker. He's not crazy.)

She sits on the sixth row from the front. The window seat.

She wears a gray beanie, but only when it's snowing.

Her braids peek out from underneath.

And has a ratty paperback in her hands.

The empty seat next to her taunts him, gleams in the orange rail lights.

Vonnegut. She's reading Vonnegut.

8:41.

Unexpectedly, she stands.

She sits down next to him.


	9. Nine

His head is pounding when she pulls off the highway. Realizes his options are equally terrible. He's going to conk out at the wheel. But, fuck, that motel looks like Jack the Ripper's grandmother decided to leave her ghost there.

He pulls over anyway.

Puts his Swiss army knife in his front pocket.

And it turns out there's only one room left. And it's going to the red-headed girl ahead of him.

Who's pretty enough to get raped.

Which is why he offers to split the room with her. He's a hero.

And prays to everything holy she says yes.


	10. Ten

He's got a pretty voice. Deep and rumbly. Like a boiling volcano.

Why the hell is this what flits through her mind as she rouses from... rouses from...

She not sure what.

"Hey! Hey!" And then quieter. "Did someone catch her name?"

"Anna," she murmurs through fumbling lips. Squints at the fluorescent shimmers above.

"Oh thank God. She's not dead."

She isn't. She thinks.

The first glimpse of him she catches is his hair.

And the ground beneath her is hard. Tries to sit, but everything spins so intently she loses control of her muscles.

But strong hands catch her.


	11. Eleven

She only paints her fingernails when she needs a good day. And today is orange. Because it's been so shitty for the past week... She doesn't want to think about it.

She's fidgety as she anticipates her latte.

When the guys hands it to her, it tumbles on the floor.

"Damnit!" she hisses. "Paper towel?" The guy rolls his eyes and hands her a roll.

She's practically in tears now.

A pair of hands, much larger than hers, rip a sheet from the roll. Dabs at the floor.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

His eyes are hazel. "It's cool." And smiles.


	12. Twelve

Her legs dangle over the back of her pick-up truck, flip-flops clinging to her toes. Below her, the ocean sprawls in loose waves.

His breath exhales in painful rhythms as he pushes his bike down the dirt path. Brakes harshly when he realizes it's a dead end. "Ah, fuck!"

She turns at the sound of his curse, the vulgar language hanging in the air. "Do you mind?" And then under her breath, "Asshole."

"Yeah, I'm leaving. Don't get your panties in a bunch, Sweetheart."

He turns to go. "Wait," she whispers. "Can I borrow your phone? My car battery's dead."


	13. Thirteen

She stumbles across his wallet. Not that she knows it was his at the time.

But she figures he'd want his driver's licence back.

Not to mention he's cute.

A slip of paper in the side compartment. His number. She presses the green button on her cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Um, I think I've found your wallet. Are you... Kirostofof?"

"It's pronounced Kristoff."

"Oh, yeah, duh." Tries to be cool. "So... do you like... wanna meet?"

"What if you're a stalker?"

'Do I sound like stalker? I couldn't even pronounce your name!"

"Fine. Meet me at the Burger King on 5th."


	14. Fourteen

When they're young.

On the swings.

A blond hair boy with his weird-looking dog.

"Hi!" she announces.

"Hi..." he says. (Less ostentatiously.)

"I'm Anna. Can I pet your dog?"

He looks down at his dog. "This is Sven... Sure, I guess you can pet him... He's pretty nice..." His fur scratches her palm. Looks at the boy.

"What's your name?"

"Krihmnph," he mumbles.

"What?"

"Kristoff," he says a little louder.

"Do you and Sven want to play tag with me?" Sweetly.

Twenty minutes later, as she's gasping for breath, her mother calls to her.

She doesn't want to go home.


	15. Fifteen

She knows her coworkers did this to her on purpose. She feels like she's in that wretched joke:

"'_How many redheads does it take to screw in a light bulb?'_

'_None, they're afraid they'll get burned.'"_

But, damn, electricity is scary.

So are ladders.

The basement stairs lurch. "Holy shit, it's dark down here!" a masculine voice says.

"Sorry," she apologises. "Changing the light bulb."

"Think you could do it before I trip on my face?"

Glances up at the circuit. "Yes?"

"So... no."

"Well, more like, shit no."

The blue light of a cell phone. "Let me help you."


	16. Sixteen

He flips on the news. A ginger reporter. Who's standing on a backdrop that looks extremely familiar.

Fuck... Fuck that's... his house. He bolts out the front door. "What the hell!"

"You've won Channel Nine's yard renovation contest!" the redhead titters.

"I didn't enter this contest."

And that's when Sven pulls up in his Porsche. Laughing hysterically.

"You did this?"

"Your yard's disgusting."

"Asshole."

"Umm," the reporter says. "We're on live TV. PG please."

"Yeah. Whatever. I don't want your yard shit."

"I don't think you have an option. We've already hired the crews."

"Great. That means you're coming back..."


End file.
